


through the camera lens

by Kylaroid



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: F/F, Mutual Masturbation, Shameless Smut, after 3x4, takes place in season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylaroid/pseuds/Kylaroid
Summary: "Dom would never admit it, but she prefers to work here. Her apartment is empty and depressing and melancholic. Sleepless desolate nights filled with shitty sex chat rooms and reality television shows. The gray-scaled image of the brunette makes her feel a little less alone when she works. Darlene is isolated and guarded and stubborn as all hell—they’re mirror images."
Relationships: Darlene Alderson/Dominique DiPierro
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	through the camera lens

It is the late afternoon when Darlene finally comes back to the safehouse. The sky is starting to lower on the horizon and casts a warm glow on the nearby buildings – threatening to blind Dom as it sinks and gleams through the windows. Dom hasn’t seen her since their conversation at the bar—Darlene promising some kind of lead and disappearing into the night. Slinking off to who knows where. Dom _could_ know where—could find ways of tracing her, following her. But against all better reason, she trusted the brunette. The earnest softness in her electric blue eyes that evening was enough of a reason. Through the grainy monitors, Dom watches as the younger woman meanders inside. Her iconic purple backpack slips off of her shoulder and is discarded onto the floor. There’s a bottle of lemonade in one hand, which she unscrews and takes a swig of. Dom makes a mental note that there are beverages she prefers other than bourbon.

Norm sighs, collapsing back into his chair opposite of Dom. “She’s finally back, I guess. You know, I don’t trust that girl. She’s so flakey. At this point, I think she’s just messing with us.” He huffs, eyes drifting between the monitors and his colleague. “Seems to me like she’s just making the best of a bad situation.” Dom breathes, leaning back in her seat and taking a sip of her coffee. “But you’re right, she’s guarded. Careful.” Her eyes narrow, interrogating the pixelated expression on Darlene’s face—attempting to read her body language, to figure her out. She sets the mug back down on the table littered with documents. “She’s definitely hiding something…”

Dom reaches over and grabs one of the earbuds that’s connected to the audio system in the safehouse. All of the video footage and audio is recorded and archived on their systems, but Dom usually prefers to listen in when she can. See if she can catch Darlene slip. Learn how to read her, understand her better. At times she’ll meander around the apartment singing. Dom can never tell whether she’s doing it because she knows that she’s listening and she’s trying to bother her—or if she’s just bored. She’s settled on a combination of the two. Her choice in music is… eclectic, every time the agent thinks she’s got it pinned down—Darlene throws a curve ball. But it’s a lot of 80s music, indie punk, and classic rock.

Sometimes she can hear Darlene crying. The faintest whimpers, and other times, wailing that radiates through the floorboards separating them. When Darlene cries, Dom’s chest aches with sympathy. The pain of anxiety, fear, isolation. It resonates somewhere between the bones of her ribcage. She does her best to ignore it unless the girl is going through a complete meltdown. Boundaries. They’re comfortable—safe. Professional.

“Well,” Norm starts—pushing himself away from the table and placing hands onto his knees. “That cues the end of my shift and I’ve got friends to meet up with.” He explains, closing his laptop and starting to gather his belongings. “Kay.” Dom quips, her gaze glued to her work laptop screen. “I still have a few archived phone calls to root through, so I’m going to stay a little longer.” There’s a shuffling sound as Norm slumps his bag over his shoulder. “Man, I can’t get out of this place fast enough. You should go home, Dom. Get some sleep, or at least do your work there.” The chair groans a little as she leans back into it—giving Norm an empathetic look. “It won’t take me more than a half hour. Then I’m out.” And with that, she’s back to her computer screen. “You know, people might think you actually _like_ this place. It gives me the creeps. Feels way too fake.” His gaze flits around the room, the faux apartment, before settling back on the ginger. “Alright, well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that, Norm trotted out of the building—door shutting solidly behind him.

Dom digs through folders, pulls out audio files and starts sorting them—the ones she’s already listened to, and those that still need to be analyzed. She doesn’t mind the tedious work that others might. Besides, you never know where you might be able to grab a lead. Her fingers peruse the table aimlessly—brushing past papers and pens until she finds her target. Unwraps the bright bubblegum pink lollipop and swirls it inside of her cheeks. The sticky artificial overly-sweet flavoring helps to coverup the bitter taste of coffee still ruminating on her tongue. Every once in awhile her eyes flicker to the screens monitoring the guarded CHS.

In the lower right corner, on the living room cam 3, Darlene can be spotted lounging on the couch and reading some kind of magazine. But the video quality is so grainy that Dom can’t quite tell what the text on the cover reads. She looks comfortable. As comfortable as someone living under surveillance and with no social contact can be. Head against the armrest and one leg crossed over the other. The room is silent—the static hum of a fan running in the background and the occasional flip of a magazine page buzzing against her ear.

Dom would never admit it, but she prefers to work here. Her apartment is empty and depressing and melancholic. Sleepless desolate nights filled with shitty sex chat rooms and reality television shows. The gray-scaled image of the brunette makes her feel a little less alone when she works. Darlene is isolated and guarded and stubborn as all hell—they’re mirror images. Binary stars spiraling—orbiting around each other. Dom finds solace in their astronomical parallels. _I know her. I am her_. Even if Darlene had frustrated the living hell out of her at the bar the other night—it just confirmed what she already knew. _We’re not so different_.

Something overrides the white noise of the fan—crackles over it and burns in her ear. A whimper, perhaps, or a moan? The quality isn’t perfect, so she can’t tell which it is. Dom lurches forward in her seat and leans in to get a better visual on the footage. Moves the lollipop in her mouth to the other cheek. She wonders if Darlene hurt herself, but when her eyes glaze over the screen she is presented with an entirely different scenario. The magazine has been discarded on the floor and Darlene has a hand burrowed into her pants. Heat flashes on her cheeks and ears before flowing down and settling between her thighs. _Shit_. She runs a hand through her hair as her thoughts race—impossible to pin down.

Turn it off. Turn the monitors off. Go home. Logical and professional. She huffs—releasing the tension in her chest—and makes a move for the power button. But the audio system is still buzzing away in her ear and the noises are becoming _much_ clearer. Darlene moans—low, drawled out, and raising in pitch. Breath so heavy that the mic is managing to pick it up. Dom swallows hard, her eyes flickering back to the monitor screen. The brunette’s other hand is under her top, fumbling with her chest—what she was doing with it was entirely up to Dom’s imagination.

This is so unprofessional. Just turn it off and leave. Go get a drink. Do anything, just—but Dom hesitates. Her fingertips are mere inches away, but her body seems unwilling to push it. A burning aching need is rippling through her and demands satisfaction. Her hand starts to tremble and her head whips back and forth as she verifies that there’s nobody in sight. ‘ _Jesus H., am I really going to do this?_ ’ She returns her hand back to her lap—gaze stuck on the lower quadrant of the security footage—unable to stop looking at the woman writhing on the couch. ‘ _Fuck, fine, just—real quick._ ’

And with that, Dom’s hand snakes under the waistband of her trousers and panties. Her fingers slid down her folds and _fuck_ —she’s wet. Embarrassingly wet. If Darlene knew how aroused this was making her—what would she think? Would she be weirded out? Appalled? Surprised? Pleased? Make some kind of smarmy clever remark that would fluster her even more? Another pithy groan from the brunette snaps Dom’s attention back into focus. Right. She was doing this. And Darlene was doing _that_.

Her fingers sink into her cunt—curling and then sliding out—trailing wetness up to her clit. Massages it tenderly, her hips rolling into the motion. Her legs are shaking, trembling, shuddering—in a mix of anxiety and arousal. _Shit_ —her skin is sweltering like it’s been set ablaze. Dom clings onto every little sound that comes out of the receiver—breath bated in the silence between each moan and whimper and expletive. She can’t keep herself from being silent either—she’s always been a bit loud. A stifled whimper inks its way out of Dom’s throat—flutters around thick in the air as she furiously touches herself. Darlene mutters a heavy fuck—and Dom could almost swear she heard her name come out of the brunette’s lips. She can’t tell, but it stokes the fire inside of her. Her head lolls back against the chair and she moans—breath heavy as her fingers wind hard against her clit. What if Darlene was thinking about _her_? The possibility never crossed her mind. It aroused her—made her throb and leak and tremble. It terrified her—a CHS and an FBI agent. How inappropriate can you get? But the desire wins out in the end—lust clouding all her good reasoning and better judgment.

Her tongue plays with the candy in her mouth—rolls it around and laps at it like she wish she could be doing to Darlene. Imagining her tongue running along the brunette’s folds and settling at her clit—giving it playful licks like this—provokes a hard shudder.

When her head rolls back—returns to the camera feed—she catches Darlene. Or perhaps, Darlene catches her. Those startling blue eyes—dulled by the filter of the footage—are pointed straight in the direction of the camera. “Fuck—” Dom blurts aloud, the expletive muffled faintly by the lollipop still wedged in her cheek. Did Darlene know? Did she plan this? The relationship probing—her coming out to Darlene. Was this some kind of game to her? Dom doesn’t know and more importantly, she doesn’t care. Because Darlene is still touching herself. And Dom is still touching herself. Binary stars—intertwined so closely they might burn.

Darlene’s orgasm is a symphony that rattles in her eardrums—loud and explicit and whimpering—tone raising to peaks. Those sounds etch themselves into Dom’s mind, burn into the folds of her brain, and make a permanent home there. The most pleasurably pained expression washes over her face—brows furrowed and mouth agape. Its inspirational. Drives Dom to stroke herself quicker as she sinks into her chair—leaning back with so much pressure that the legs threaten to give way. And the wave of pleasure comes. Her muscles tense—legs quivering and shoulders shuddering. She does her best to contain her volume, but she can’t stop the sweet whimpers and moans seeking escape. Her fingers rub slowly and intentionally—wringing out every last fragment of ecstasy possible. With a final shudder, she’s come down—the weight of her actions sinking in with the wetness and soreness of her hand. Regret and shame wash over her as she returns from the peaks of her pleasure.

She sighs—thoroughly frustrated at herself as she grabs a tissue from the table and wipes the sheen off her fingers. Just as she finishes cleaning herself off, her phone buzzes with an alert. There’s a text message.

“Enjoy the show, Agent DiPierro?”


End file.
